Connotations of the Word 'Yes'
by Dusty Forgotten
Summary: When he fell into the Pit, he expected fire and brimstone, endless torture, but the nothingness was worse. "But you know something about angels? We can fill just about anything." Samifer Week 2012 !
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Written for Samifer Week 2012. Now, I usually only jot down a fic, type it up, and if you're lucky, read through it before posting. This one, I've rewritten. Three times. Appreciate this.**

The earth caved in, tumbling down into an empty, black abyss. Dean looked on in horror- well, what he could see through the blood in his swollen eyes, propped helplessly against the Impala.

That's where Sam jumped (though perhaps 'fell' would be more appropriate,) as he grappled desperately at his half-brother. The archangel, Michael, screamed, ripping out of his vessel and thusly twisting the scream into the ear-splitting shriek of his true voice, his form glowing. He couldn't detect the light of the Earth at this point, and soon enough all that emanated off of Michael was absorbed in the darkness as well. He lost sight of the angel completely- falling, falling- wind rushing past him at whipping speeds.

The air stung against his skin, the passed-out Adam tore out of his grasp, and Sam lost himself in fear of when- if at all- he would crash to the bottom. Lucifer, on the other hand, didn't fight. When the hunter first regained control, the archangel had beat against his skull, but after they fell…? He was almost sulking. Silent. He didn't even seize power now, as Sam practically relinquished it.

Actually, he began to wonder if Lucifer was even in him at all… Damn if that wasn't the most terrifying thought that ever crossed him. The nearly painful energy of having an archangel crammed inside him was waning… Dwindling… Gone. Where was Lucifer!? Come to think of it, what happened to the sting of every particle past him at terminal velocity? Where was the fire, the brimstone? When had he stopped screaming: when has he stopped _breathing_?

Sam was numb- and not the tingling, uncomfortable numbness he was accustomed to sitting in the Impala for hours- he just couldn't feel _anything_. Hell, he couldn't be sure if he had hit bottom; it was too dark, too still. Was he even in control of Lucifer anymore, or locked in some black part of his mind? He was just _so_ alone… So… Alone… Alone…

'_Welcome to the Cage, Sammy.' _the voice whispered in his mind. _'Surprise! It's worse than you expected, right? You know what this is?' _He seemed to wait for an answer he must have known Sam could not form- his thoughts weren't even coming at this point. _'This is what it's like without hope. It's just empty. Nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. …But, you know something about angels? We can fill just about anything.'_

A snap of fingers resounded, and suddenly the black was gone, replace by the visage of something… much closer to expected: a torture chamber. Though darkened, it served as a stark contrast to the void of moments ago. Re-acclimated with his senses, the hunter became aware that Lucifer had, indeed, taken the lead again, reducing the mortal to glimpses of his surroundings only when the fallen angel wanted him to see. Now was one of the times he was intended to see _exactly_ what the archangel was doing. Meat hooks dangled from the ceiling, chains littered the bloody stone floor, and a number of racks, table, and trays lay awaiting use.

"I was always good with virtual reality. Taught Gabriel everything he knows. _Knew_… Whatever. If I let my Grace bleed through, it'll fill the hole. You're sitting inside my soul, Sammy. Welcome home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I was hardcore Satanist for a while, and thusly did my share of research and I found a few core principles: honesty, and revenge. Here's to the latter.**

"Homey, don'tcha think?" the Devil went on, his voice warped around Sam's vocal chords.

The hunter simply sneered a little within his brain.

Lucifer picked up a knife and inspected the glinting metal, running his thumb across the it; each ridge of his fingertip caught on the blade. "You know, I'm impressed. A mortal, overpowering the…" -he paused to count on his fingers- "fourth oldest thing in the universe. Me. As far as humans go, the Winchesters are the most fascinating I've seen since… Creation?" He set the knife back down and dragged the cart beside an (unnervingly human-shaped) table, dotted in blood stains. "Though, by far, you have to be the most interesting out of the lot."

The Devil settled himself onto the table, arms out on the thrusts intended for them. "Poor Sammy," he enunciated, and for once, the hunter couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, "the boy that wanted nothing more than to be normal. But he never could." Sarcastic, certainly. "Sorry, moose. You were born for this. You were _designed _for me." Now, _that _was genuine. "Still, you dragged me into hell, and I'm a little pissed."

The restraints clapped down on his wrists and ankles as Lucifer simply smirked in amusement. "Here's to revenge!"


End file.
